


Intent

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-21
Updated: 2003-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>50 AD, on the road to Corinth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intent

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lilith

 

 

Disclaimer: Aziraphale and Crowley are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Paul is a historical figure, as described in the bible and Christian mythology. I mean no harm to any of the parties I borrowed from. 

~ 

It was a clear, mild night on the road to Corinth in about 50 AD, and Paul was getting a bit worn out. He and his travelling companions were nearing a village, but it just wouldn't do to stop in a heathen village, introduce yourself as a non-profit troop of missionaries, and ask for a room for the night. "Tax-deductible donation" just didn't have the same ring when it came from a major leader of a small but steadily growing cult. 

Paul (formerly Saul, Rome's favorite persecutor of Christians, women, homosexuals, and people they just didn't like) was now a full time Christian missionary, as well as a part time sidewalk preacher, miracle worker, and, if he'd had enough wine, interpretive dancer. He was leading a group of Christians to Corinth, in what he felt was going to be the most successful mission trip yet. They had a slew of miracles up their sleeves, several sermons just waiting to be preached, and a whole new moral code. Furthermore, Paul had just obtained a new partner, Croelus, who had some pretty neat ideas about how things ought to be done. Croelus had been the first to suggest that maybe this Jesus fellow was a tougher cookie than everyone made him out to seem, and that some people just weren't quite as blessed as others. Women, for example, the wretched creatures. Paul liked this man's thinking. He was going to really help them get that message out. Besides, he could miracle away leprosy faster than anyone in the troop. 

The village was just a few paces away. It was late, and the men were hungry. However, Christian missionary just wasn't a popular job around town these days. Men had been crucified for less, and Paul had no intention of joining the long list of martyrs quite yet. 

An elbow rammed him in the side, and he glanced over at his right-hand man. "Hey," Croelus whispered. "Think we should stop here for some supper?" 

Paul winced. "I don't know. It really would be safer to just jog through as quickly as possible, you know." 

"There could be females to oppress," Croelus pointed out. "Besides, I could use a beer." 

Paul patted his friend on the shoulder. "How wise you are. I'm glad you found the church." He turned to face the rest of the missionaries. "Men! We stop in town and eat!" 

A few half-hearted cheers rose from the back of the line (those Greek twins, no doubt) and they marched onward. The village was very small. There seemed to be only a few houses, a town hall, a temple to heathen gods, a handful of loose hens, and an inn with a good-sized tavern. Paul decided that it would do, glancing around for any acts of idolatry he could condemn. 

Before he'd gotten very far, however, a shout came quite unexpected from the door of the tavern: "Brother Paul! Brother Paul, is that you?" 

~ 

The innkeeper wasn't quite sure why he'd felt the need to ask a complete stranger if he was the Christian missionary Paul, but he'd gone and done it. No use trying to back out of it now. 

The man seemed startled but was making no move to kill him. "Do I know you?" the man asked, glancing around nervously. 

"No. You do not. But I'm, ah." The innkeeper made a few gestures with his hand. The cross, the fish, a different cross, a manger, a donkey. Nothing seemed to work. 

At the pantomime of a painful crucifixion, Paul got it. "My Brother!" he proclaimed joyously, pulling the man into a tight hug. 

The innkeeper beamed. If Charades had existed in 50 AD, he would have been a champion. "I am a fellow Christian," he whispered. "I don't quite know how I recognized you, but I think it was the will of Heaven." 

"Indeed," Paul nodded. "I am on my way to Corinth, preaching the word and purifying the message of the church. This time, we aim to inform the people that forgiveness isn't quite absolute, you understand?" 

"Oh, yes." The man nodded, though he didn't understand at all. "Well, if you and your brothers seek food or drink, you're welcome to my tavern. Everything is on the house. I'd love to offer you all a place to stay, but we're full tonight." 

"Actually," one of his workers tapped him on the shoulder, whispering in his ear. "Everyone has checked out unexpectedly, just within the last ten minutes. Every room is empty. There's plenty of space." 

The innkeeper took a step back in shock, but declared, "I suppose, then, you boys are welcome to stay. Make yourselves at home. I'm honored to finally meet you." He patted Paul on the shoulder and jogged over to inform the bartender of the change in plans. It was shaping up to be a very peculiar night, but that was just how things happened sometimes. 

At any rate, it must have been part of some great plan. And it just wouldn't do to question the divine. 

~ 

Crowley leaned against the wall of the inn and eyed the innkeeper. Good, wholesome man. He seemed to truly believe in the equality of man, the power of faith, and all of that nonsense. Crowley would have him by the morning, and perhaps one or two of the maids, as well. His successful temptation rate had really increased once he'd teamed up with Paul. 

Crowley was a demon. Always. At the moment, he was posing as Croelus, a fellow Christian, and was in the middle of one of his more brilliant plans to corrupt the pious. Paul seemed to genuinely like him, but what he'd really liked was Crowley's suggestion that all the wicked thoughts in Paul's head should become part of Christian doctrine. 

He took a deep swig of his drink and waved at Paul, who seemed ready to get to his room. They'd been amazingly lucky tonight. Crowley had thought about convincing the innkeeper to give them free rooms, but he hadn't even needed to. Fate was on hell's side every once in a while. He set his drink down on the table, winked at the bartender, and stood shakily, surveying the room. He stopped, squinted, and found that his luck hadn't run out yet. 

A stunningly attractive young man with light grey eyes and beautiful golden curls was approaching him. He was wearing a thin tunic with no sleeves, as well as a fantastic smile. Crowley couldn't help smiling back. Fate was, indeed, on hell's side tonight. "Good evening," he breathed, gazing at the boy's exposed collarbone, which appeared to be shimmering beneath the torchlight. 

"Hello, sir," the boy murmured in a melodious voice. "I'll be showing you to your room. Are you ready?" 

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Absolutely." 

The boy nodded and held his hand out to gesture down the hallway. "If you'd follow me, then." 

Crowley followed gladly. Paul would throw a fit upon meeting this one, and Crowley found himself looking forward to this. If, of course, he could to have a little fun with him first. 

The boy glanced demurely at Crowley. "Good sir," he asked in soft, dulcet tones. "What is the good news they say you bear?" 

"Of DAMNATION!" Crowley shouted. Remembering himself, he calmed down a bit. "Or, rather, of sin. And the fate of the damned. And the many ways in which one might be damned." 

"Ah. I see." The boy walked ahead, putting a bit of a swing into his hips. Lovely view, really. 

He led Crowley to a small but cozy room, with a suitable-looking bed and a vase of water sitting in the opposite corner. "This is your room, sir. I suspect you'll find it to your liking. It's not within earshot of the other men, if you catch my drift." 

"Er." Crowley smiled at the boy and turned to the bed. "Looks comfy. Thank you very much, then." 

"And," the boy spoke in golden, warm tones. "If there's anything I can do for you, sir. Anything at all." 

Crowley glanced over his shoulder at the boy. His smile had broadened and one strap of his tunic had slid down his shoulder. His light curls framed his face like a - 

_No._ Couldn't be. 

Crowley stepped toward him, looking him straight in the strangely familiar eyes. "Anything?" he repeated. 

The boy reached up and slid a hand up Crowley's arm. "Anything. I'm certain that it gets dreadfully lonely on the road, with no one to talk to except those dreadful missionaries. No entertainment. No fun. Nothing to quench your deeper thirsts." He leaned closer, and whispered, "Anything you desire, sir." 

Crowley chuckled and ran his hands through the boy's soft hair. "The church condemns such actions, boy. The seeking of pleasure. And Paul suggests death to men that seek it with men." 

The boy froze and spoke in a clipped, clinical voice. "Not the original message, sir. I don't recall any mention of homosexuality until this last mission. Same with the preaching of there being only one way to heaven and men keeping their wives from speaking up anytime they please. Or this silly Pope business, honestly. Not that I mean you any offence." His voice softened once more. "At any rate, you seem to be eager for this, sir. Certainly it can't be wrong if it's what your body needs." 

Crowley chuckled and sat down on the bed, pulling the boy with him. He kissed him, wrapping his arms around his waist and tasting his divine lips. "Can't be wrong if we're both seeking it. Angel." 

The boy tensed against his lips. 

"Ah-HAH!" Crowley shouted, pinning him down against the bed. 

"Oh, do get off me," Aziraphale hissed, pushing him away. "Honestly, your kind are all so over-dramatic." 

"And your kind?" Crowley retorted, pressing down more firmly. " 'Oh, I think I'll drown the world today. They've all been so mean to me!' Not dramatic in the least." 

"Would you get off?" His eyes shone bright for a moment. Crowley released him and he sat upright, brushing himself off indignantly. "Much better." 

"Now," Crowley glowered. "Would you like to explain yourself or should we just carry on where we were?" 

Aziraphale smiled in relief and reached for Crowley's waist. Crowley slapped his hands away indignantly. 

"Oh, I don't think so," he snarled. "You'll be explaining yourself right now. What you're doing here, why you're trying to get me in bed. Why you're wearing all that glitter." 

Aziraphale pulled back and stood up, pacing around the foot of the bed. "Fine, fine. We want Paul back." 

"Absolutely not," Crowley replied immediately. 

"Your side isn't open to negotiation?" he asked tentatively. "We can discuss this whole Caesar thing again if you wish." 

"Paul was ours first, and it's taken me quite a lot of time to get him back to our side. Even now he's firmly convinced that this is for the good of heaven. You stole him from us, and we saw fit to take him back." 

Aziraphale sighed. "You see, this is why I went about things the way that I did. All the angels kept talking about having faith in my powers of negotiation, but clearly none of them have tried to split a check with a demon. The only way to really negotiate with hell is to use their own tactics against them. Put forth a little effort, so to speak." 

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale's tunic. "A little effort, indeed." 

Aziraphale leaned down, pressing his hands against the bed on either side of Crowley's hips and smiling only an inch from his own lips. "I didn't notice you complaining." 

The demon squirmed. "So you stole Saul from the powers of hell, made him change his perfectly good name, converted him, got him to frolic all over the place spreading the good news of God's love, and now your side is complaining because I've altered his message just a little? He was one of our finest, you know. Killed dozens of your people, all on his own. We can't find a suitable replacement. We need him back, or we at least need him to stop preaching all of this forgiveness and love nonsense." 

"We did not steal him. He converted," Aziraphale insisted. "Mid-life crisis. We were certain Lucifer had thought those up, and then we realized humans were simply doing it on their own. These humans are astonishing creatures. They can do nearly anything when left unsupervised for long enough." 

"You stole him," Crowley reiterated. 

Aziraphale knelt in front of the bed, folded his arms in Crowley's lap, and smiled. "We requested that he rethink things. Just a little guidance. And I really don't think we had anything to do with those scales over the eyes. I've no idea what happened there." 

"And I suppose you had nothing to do with his conversion?" 

"Well, I might have stopped by for a chat with one of my favorite prophets earlier that day," Aziraphale finally admitted, looking down. "All the same, we didn't blind him or put fear of God into him. He leapt to that conclusion on his own. We just took advantage of a good thing. Besides, he'd killed some of our best, and you'd had no permission to actually kill them. Just tempt them a little." He glared up sternly, which might have had more of an effect if he hadn't been on his knees in front of a flustered demon. 

Crowley squirmed. "And another thing. I'm absolutely certain this is cheating. Angels aren't supposed to tempt." 

Aziraphale grinned a sweet, clean grin. "Ah, but it's different. This is thwarting." 

Crowley "You dressed as a prostitute and tried to seduce me. How the bloody hell does that count as thwarting?" 

A pained expression crossed Aziraphale's face, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Blessed heaven," he corrected mildly. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell," he repeated, putting a little extra brimstone into his voice. 

"Blessed- Oh, it doesn't matter. It's all about frame of mind, really. Intention, if you will." 

Crowley shook his head. "It has nothing to do with intention. We've got hundreds of pathetic saps moping about hell, complaining about how they were so certain that they would never end up here. Eleventh circle, you know. Eternal whining." 

The angel sighed. "It's about the real intention, not what you use to excuse it. Look, Paul's started going about shouting at homosexuals, women, circumcised men, tax collectors, and everyone on his father's side of the family. Thanks to you, he thinks Christianity will excuse this. But he's really doing it because he just doesn't like them. He's still human, and has all those nasty irrational dislikes in the back of his mind. However, if not for your temptation, he wouldn't be shouting about anything except forgiveness and light. We want you to stop filling his head with all of these excuses, do you understand?" 

"And in order to do that, you decided to come down and tempt me." 

Aziraphale glared at him. "I'm thwarting you. It's a distraction." 

"You distracted me by trying to sleep with me. No doubt you were going to tie me to the bedposts and leave me bound up when they left in the morning." He studied the angel's eyes. "That was your plan, wasn't it? You kinky fuck." 

"Hush. You don't need to bring my preferences into this discussion. Now look at it this way." Aziraphale slid his hands over Crowley's knees and looked up at him with that contemplative, holy-enlightenment expression. "What is temptation, really? It's just your side trying to convince someone to do something to further the goals of hell." 

"Well, we have an entire handbook for it, but that's basically the definition, yes." Crowley squirmed an inch backwards, but Aziraphale was pinning his thighs in place. 

"And thwarting is just our way of trying to stop a temptation, no matter what form either one takes." Aziraphale slid his hands slowly up his legs, pushing the fabric of his robes out of the way. 

"Even if it takes the form of temptation?" Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's wrists and pressed his legs together. "Circular argument, angel. You should know better." 

"Oh, be quiet and cooperate, would you?" Aziraphale pushed Crowley's arms back, pressing against him until Crowley was on his back and Aziraphale was lying on top of him. The angel grinned. "Why Crowley. It seems that you're enjoying our discussion." 

"It's all that glitter," Crowley muttered. "Bloody distracting." 

Aziraphale laughed. "That was the intent, you do realize. Distracting you as much as possible. I've always fancied myself to be quite good at thwarting you." 

"Hmm." Aziraphale had always been extremely good at distracting Crowley, but Crowley wasn't about to admit that he'd ever been thwarted. No, he thought as he slid his hands into the folds of Aziraphale's tunic, this was more like taking a moment to indulge in the wages of sin. He kissed him gently. Yes, Aziraphale had always been quite good at that, too. "Would your people approve of this?" he murmured into Aziraphale's lips. 

Aziraphale had worked his fingers into the fastenings of his tunic and was pushing the cloth away eagerly. "No, Gabriel forbids glitter, but this is undercover. I'm sure they'd understand. And, really, I don't see any need to - " 

**"SINNERS!"**

Aziraphale leapt to his feet, and Crowley sat aright, hastily pulling his clothes back on. Paul was standing in the doorway with a horrified expression on his face. 

"Shit," Crowley muttered, getting slowly to his feet. "Now, Paul, why don't you just calm down and -" 

Paul leapt at Aziraphale and wrapped his hands around the angel's throat. "The wages of sin are death, fool!" he shouted. "To lie with another man is despicable in the eyes of the Lord!" 

"Actually," Aziraphale croaked, clawing at the fingers around his neck. "He's just fine with -" 

"Silence, hell-spawn!" Paul roared, slapping him. 

Crowley winced. "Paul, I really wouldn't do that..." 

"And YOU!" Paul glared over his shoulder. "You of all people should know how disgusting this is! You will be put to death immediately! We will not stand for this kind of - " 

Aziraphale pushed away and lay his hands over Paul's eyes. "That's quite enough," he said firmly, and a flash of light filled the room. He pulled his hands away. 

Paul wailed in despair and fell to his knees. "Blinded! I've been blinded by a demon!" 

"Demon?" Aziraphale shouted indignantly. "Why, of all the! I never! How dare you, mortal!" 

Crowley cackled. "You have to admit, you were being quite demonic there. You tempted a missionary of the church of Christianity and blinded another when he tried to intervene." 

"For the last time, it's thwarting, not tempting! Besides, you're a demon and he's been swayed. I was trying to do things in the most subtle way possible." Aziraphale glared a particularly nasty glare at the demon. 

"Right, subtlety. From the keeper of the flaming sword. Subtlety is really your forte, you know." 

"Shh!" Aziraphale glanced upward nervously. "Hush up about that, would you?" 

"May God smite you!" Paul wailed, still lying in a miserable heap on the ground. "May God hang you by the testicles!" 

Aziraphale made a face. "Nasty. You've really done a job on this one, Crowley." 

He shrugged. "He came like this. Full of that hatred and all of those curses. I've just given him an excuse." 

"By corrupting our plan, yes." Aziraphale stared down at the weeping man. "What are we going to do with him?" 

Crowley considered. "He's too valuable to kill. Can't very well keep him blind." 

"Right." Aziraphale knelt over the man and spoke loudly. "You will open your eyes and see an empty room! You will go to your bedroom and sleep! You will dream of green hills, wildflowers, and lovely ponies! You will awaken and remember neither Crowley nor me! Now go!" 

Paul blinked nervously, glanced around the room, scrambled to his feet, and fled. 

"This should teach you to lock the door," Aziraphale muttered, standing and brushing himself off. 

"You're the one that brought me here. I've no idea how to lock it," Crowley protested. 

Aziraphale smirked and bolted the door. "Difficult, wasn't it?" He took a step closer. "Now. You're going to stay away from Paul henceforth." 

Crowley glared. "We'd made such excellent progress with him." 

"I'm certain he's still going to do worlds of damage, but you're absolutely forbidden from making it worse. If I'd left you alone with him for a week, I'm certain the whole Roman Empire would have converted to Satanism within a week." 

Crowley grinned. "Possible. You tempt me, angel." 

"I thwart you," Aziraphale corrected, lying back down on the bed. "Now come back to bed and let me do my job." 

"Gladly," Crowley purred, lying back with him. "Though I'm absolutely certain your job description has nothing to do with this." 

"Oh, shut up." Aziraphale slid his hands through Crowley's hair and Crowley shut his eyes. "It's all about intent, anyway." 

 


End file.
